


Now welcome the weary

by Telltalelily



Series: A stone upon water [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, I'm so sorry, Masturbation, Misunderstandings, Mpreg, Multi, Vaginal Sex, dead durins, hinted bilbo/thorin - Freeform, pre-marital sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 18:57:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13576896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telltalelily/pseuds/Telltalelily
Summary: The Company enters Laketown, and Dwalin would rather have passed by it altogether, but after their joyride down the river they are in dire need of weapons and supplies. They are so close to Erebor and a (hopefully) momentous change in history. But change often comes when you are least expecting it, and for Dwalin it appears in the form of a Bowman's daughter.OrSigrid wants a slice of beefcake. Dwalin is happy to supply.





	Now welcome the weary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fallingflurry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingflurry/gifts).



> Hi! So, this is the first fic I have ever finished, second I've ever written and I don't quite know where it came from. It was supposed to be about 4k fluff and pretty much fill the function of training wheels as I try to figure out how writing works (new hobby, yay!). Then the characters sort of wrestled it away from me and decided to have lots of sex instead.  
> A million thank you's to fallingflurry for being the best person ever and extremely supportive as I dip my toe into writing myself.  
> The title is from a poem in the book.  
> I hope you enjoy!

Laketown was one of the dreariest places Dwalin had set foot in recent memory. The air was frigid and cloaked the entire town in a haze of chill and damp. Chunks of ice floated in the canals and thumped against the poles the town was built on. The timbers were covered in slimy seaweed and the planks of the walkways and buildings had been warped and distorted by the constant exposure to moisture.  
Perhaps there was a constant reek of fish in the air, or perhaps it had simply permeated their clothes from their sojourn in the barrels to the point where it was all he could smell; it didn’t really matter, because Dwalin hated the place either way. Still, this was the last stop on the way to Erebor, and thanks to that spineless grass muncher Thranduil they needed to stop and restock their supplies here.

Bilbo had done an excellent job burgling them out of Mirkwood, but unfortunately he hadn’t managed to bring their gear. Dwalin felt naked without his axes and armor, and that didn’t improve his mood. He was even unhappier when it was revealed that Bard’s attempt at smuggling the Company into his home meant they had to crawl into his house through the toilet. Dwalin wasn’t squeamish. He had seen too much and done too much for that, but that didn’t mean he was happy about the plan.

As the most experienced warrior in the company, especially in unarmed combat, it was decided that Dwalin would go first. He was decidedly unhappy when his head breached the water and emerged through the toilet seat. There was a scrawny boy standing there, offering his hand to help pull him out, but Dwalin was too wound up by the past– whole quest, if he were to be honest, to be polite to him. The quest had been very trying. His best friend had insulted their burglar, set up camp near the lair of mountain trolls, been chewed on by wargs and nearly been killed by his mortal enemy, they had all had to endure the hospitality of elves and goblins and Dwalin had been worried sick the entire time. And now they were at the mercy of this Man in this reeking town.

He climbed out with a growl and went up the stairs the boy pointed to. Bilbo would be following close behind him, and he wanted to have scouted out the place for potential dangers as much as possible before he caught up. Bilbo would smooth over any feathers that that might be ruffled with his charming grin and polite manners. The hobbit had a knack for endearing himself to everyone they met, and Dwalin privately thought that if he hadn’t been able to find a way for them to escape from Mirkwood Bilbo could easily have charmed that beaver-toothed ass Thranduil into letting them go with one of his sparkly hobbit smiles.

He burst through the door at the top of the stairs and even as his gaze started to scan over the interior of the cramped house a baffled voice drifted to his ears.  
“Da, why are there dwarves coming out of our toilet?”  
Turning toward the voice he found himself looking up into a pair of large, dark eyes. His heart skipped a beat in his chest. The young woman’s heart shaped face was framed with silky looking strands of hair that had escaped from the practical braid trailing down her back. Pink lips parted in surprise as she took him in, the oddly slim eyebrows of her kind lifting. A quick intake of breath caressed his ears and went straight to his cock. He would love to coax more breathy sounds out of that long, pale throat with his tongue, his teeth, his…

He suddenly became acutely aware that he probably looked like a drenched rat. His hair and beard was plastered to his skin and he could feel how his clothes clung closely to his body. The woman had apparently overcome her surprise, and now her dark eyes glittered as her gaze followed the water dripping from his beard down his chest and legs down onto the floor. She dragged her eyes back up his form and quirked a smile as she met his eyes again. He couldn’t stop the cocky grin he shot her in response.  
The whole encounter had felt like it lasted a breath, or a life time. Dwalin shook himself as he heard Bilbo’s voice floating up the stairs. He had a job to do.

 

Dwalin stood next to Thorin with his arms crossed over his chest. The dwarves had been given threadbare towels to dry off with by Bard’s children (and unfortunately it had been the boy who had distributed them). The company was gathered around the table in the middle of the main room to see what weapons Bard had managed to find for them.  
He was interested, of course, but he also kept scanning the small dwelling for threats at the same time. Dwarves rarely felt secure in the towns of Men, and if his gaze happened to catch on Bard’s eldest a time of five, well, that was his business. It was difficult to avoid anyone in a house with only a kitchen, main room and room for washing, after all.

She moved around the house performing her chores with the practiced ease of someone used to taking care of the household and its inhabitants. Dwalin couldn’t help but notice the way her threadbare clothes strained across her hips as she mopped up the puddles of water the Company had dragged in on the floor or over her chest as she stretched to hang the damp towels from the rafters near the fire.  
He also couldn’t help but notice that she often glanced his way when she thought herself unobserved, and smiled whenever their eyes met. So it wasn’t only him, then.

Gloin’s angry shouting brought his attention back to the proceedings at the table. He let his more hot-tempered kin deal with the Man. He knew better than most that it was best to stay out of his cousin’s way when his temper flared. Quick to boil and quick to cool, it was.  
Besides, the last word ultimately belonged to Thorin, no matter how upset Gloin and the others were. No point in getting worked up until he decided either way. And a quick glance at Thorin told him that he was content to let the others shout and frazzle Bard so that he would be softened up and receptive by the time Thorin made his own opinions known in a low, rumbling voice. It was a strategy he used often and to great effect.

And Bard did look frazzled. He had the look of someone hovering just inside the edge of desperation and who had been for a long time already. He held himself stiffly, as if he could never quite relax all the way, and even as he greeted his children with love in his eyes that had been true. His fingers gripped his sleeves too tightly when he crossed his arms, and his jaw clenched just a little too often for it to be anything but an outlet for the stress of the burdens weighing him down. Dwalin had seen eyes like his before, tired and sorrowful and haunted, and always in the very worst of towns and situations. It did not bode well that the citizens of Laketown would wear such a look. They would have to be especially cautious in this wretched place, for if it wasn’t a good place for its inhabitants he doubted a ragtag group of strange dwarves would find a warmer welcome.

As the argument died down the Company scattered around the room to find places to rest. Dwarves were hardy, but the escape from the Elven king’s prison and subsequent chase by the orcs had taken their toll on the company’s stamina. The only places to sit were on benches around the table, the narrow bed in the corner and on a pile of bedding in a niche by the window. It looked like a cold perch, especially in a house as badly insulated as this one, but from the things he had witnessed of Bard during their brief acquaintance he rather suspected the Man slept better knowing he could see anything that was coming.

The dwarves huddled together in family groups where they could in the drafty house to rest. Gloin and Oin sat down next to Balin by the fire, while Dori placed his broad back against the window in the niche, he and Nori holding Ori between them. Bifur, Bofur and Bombur snuggled together on a bare patch of floor and the lone bed held the pale and shivering Kili. Fili hovered nervously around his brother, too worried to eat the stale bread and fish soup being passed around by Bain and Tilda. The King stayed close to his nephews, and interestingly enough Bilbo had joined their family group. Thorin’s usually severe expression lightened as Tilda handed him a wooden bowl of the thin soup with a bright smile, and in short order she was sitting by the bed, asking question after question about anything and everything in the manner of children.

With everything seemingly well in hand, Dwalin gathered up a few of the dirty dishes and moved in the direction of the tiny kitchen. Thorin looked up and caught his eye as he passed, and he could read the thoughts passing behind his eyes as easily as if they were his own.  
I know where you are going. Are you sure this is wise?  
He twitched an eyebrow back and shifted his jaw.  
You saying it’s not?  
Thorin managed to look both sheepish and wry at the same time as Dwalin’s gaze quickly flickered to the hobbit next to him.  
You got your own, don’t you?  
Bilbo was looking back and forth between them with an intensely curious expression on his face. He had always seemed strangely fascinated by their silent communication, and especially lately since he had grown closer to Thorin. Very much closer, if Dwalin was any judge. He had never seen his friend wear such a besotted look around anyone before and Bilbo wasn’t any better. Thorin’s gaze took a serious cast as it returned to Dwalin.  
Just be careful.  
He could do that. With a barely imperceptible nod he turned and strode off toward the kitchen again. He purposefully did not look at his brother’s frowning face as he strode past the fireplace.

 

Dwalin entered the tiny kitchen to the sounds of splashing water. Sigrid stood with her back to the door in front and slightly to the side of the entrance washing up after the cooking. A low, pleasant humming reached his ears and his gaze landed on rounded hips swaying from side to side along with the tune.  
The kitchen was truly tiny. It was both short and narrow, barely big enough for one occupant, let alone two. The walls were stained with streaks of black mold from the constantly damp air, as well as from a poorly mended hole in the roof where the shingles didn’t quite meet up properly. The rest of the kitchen was kept meticulously clean from the well-swept floor to the spotless counter. The fireplace was cunningly built to be accessible both from the kitchen and the front room, heating both at once as long as there was firewood to be had. Dwalin took a deep breath through his nose, inhaling the smell of fish and brine and the soap Sigrid was using on the dishes. He stepped up to Sigrid’s left and piled his dishes with the others. She shot him a glance and smiled as she pulled a slim-fingered hand from the soapy water to gesture imperiously at a threadbare dishtowel.  
“Do you dry, Master Dwarf?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.  
“I’ll have you know I excel at drying dishes,” he replied, gathering up the towel and reaching for a mug.

They worked side by side, only the soft sounds of the sloshing water and the clink of dishes breaking the silence. The air between them was relaxed and Dwalin marveled at the way they washed and dried in perfect synchrony as if they had done this together for years, but at the same time there was an undercurrent of tension he couldn’t quite ignore. The attraction between them prickled constantly at his skin. They stood close enough that he could feel the warmth of her next to him, and once or twice their arms would brush lightly against the other. He was so aware of her that it almost hurt. He couldn’t help but glance at Sigrid from under his bushy brows over and over again.

Dwalin prided himself on knowing his own mind, and he was very aware that he had a type. The ones that had caught his eye in the past had all been redheads, with full beards and wide shoulders. Sigrid had no beard and was not likely to grow one, her hair was dark brown and she had the oddly narrow and stretched shape typical of her race. He had also always liked the ones that were shorter than him, and being unusually tall for a dwarf himself that had never really been a problem to achieve. Through some furtive measuring he estimated that her collarbones were at his eyelevel – if he tipped his head back. But he wasn’t the kind of dwarf to turn away a good thing simply because it came in an unexpected form, and he had never felt this sort of instant attraction before. It was as if she had reached into his body to squeeze the breath from his lungs and set his every nerve ending on fire. He couldn’t stand it and he never wanted it to stop.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, he decided to distract himself from his contemplation with some conversation.  
He opened his mouth and realized that he had absolutely no idea what to say. He had never had the gift of words like Balin did, but Sigrid was looking at him expectantly, clearly waiting to hear what he had to say.  
“So you live with your da still?”  
He could have kicked himself but Sigrid smiled as she nodded her confirmation.  
“It’s just I thought your kind all married when they got old enough.”  
Her smile broadened and her eyes twinkled as she asked,  
“Was that your way of asking how old I am? Or if I’m married?”  
Dwalin focused very intently on the pesky plate in his hands that just would not dry for some reason. There was clearly some flaw in the pottery. Her arm bumped his shoulder again when she stacked another freshly cleaned plate in front of him and as her scent drifted to his nose it took all of his self-discipline to stop himself from turning and burying his face in her neck, to breathe her in so deeply her scent would be imprinted on his very bones.  
“I’m not married, and though I am young I came into my majority last year,” she continued. Dwalin hummed in response, which she apparently took as encouragement to continue.  
“It’s… It’s complicated. I don’t know exactly why you are here or what business you have with da, but if you are staying here for a while there are some things you might need to know–” Her solemn tone had pulled his gaze back to her face, so he didn’t miss the mischievous grin she shot him when she continued, “–and it ties in with my unmarried state, in case you wanted to know.”  
Backlit by the fireplace in the dim kitchen she was radiant, light and shadow dancing across soft curves and smooth skin, catching on her hair and gathering in dips of her body. The threadbare clothes and work worn hands were smoothed out by the soft light and Dwalin privately thought that in this moment she wouldn’t have looked out of place among the high-born ladies of Gondor.

“You see, the Master is the ruler of Laketown. He is a greedy man, but not very intelligent. You may have noticed that most of us are not well off when you went through the town, and that is not just because of a lack of trade, though there is that too. The elves trade with us, and some others come from places further south and east for fish and the scraps the elves send us.”

The tub was empty of dishes to clean now, and Sigrid turned to face Dwalin directly instead. Hip propped against the counter, she looked relaxed except for the serious expression in her dark eyes. She leaned slightly toward him as she continued.  
“We are of the line of Girion, the last Lord of Dale. So that’s why our house was watched and you had to use another way in. The Master thinks da will start a rebellion against him and take power for himself since he would have been King if Dale still stood. And he probably could, but da doesn’t want power. And the Master doesn’t realize that the reason da is well loved in this town and he isn’t, is because da helps everyone as much as he can.”

“Someone who brings you food when you have none easily gains your loyalty,” Dwalin said, and received a broad grin in return.

“Exactly! So da helps as much as he can, and the Master would like to be rid of him. Our ma died a long time ago, and I’ve run the house and raised my siblings so da could go out and earn money to feed us. The Master has decided that marrying me off would cripple da’s efforts. If I don’t take care of things here he can’t fish as much or fetch the barrels, at least not until Tilda is older.”

Dwalin’s brows furrowed. She was clearly rather clever to have such a clear grasp of the implication of the goings-on in the town. Men didn’t like for their lasses to get involved in such things, he knew from all the years he had worked in the towns of Men with Thorin. Their place was usually more along the lines of housekeeper and broodmare in his experience. It was not at all the dwarven way, and he had never understood why anyone would want an as uninformed partner as possible. Sigrid was clearly very well informed, and her information disturbed him greatly. If she was right, and he had no reason to think she wasn’t, they were sitting on a powder keg. If they were discovered, they would have to align themselves with one side or another in this deeply divided town, and either choice could potentially spell disaster for them. He should go inform Thorin that their situation was even more precarious than they had thought immediately.  
But thinking on her words further, there was one thing he was unclear on, and it should have been the least important thing she had said but somehow he needed to know.  
“But if you married you could surely watch your siblings anyway?” he asked with flaming cheeks.  
“Yes, so they try to introduce me to traders coming up from other places. I’ve grown up here and everybody knows everything about everyone else. Its common knowledge that I’ve never fallen in love with anyone and since I know them all already it doesn’t seem likely that I will.”

Emboldened by the subtle encouragement he stepped even closer to her until only a hairs breadth of space was left between them. This close her scent was all he could smell. He felt the warmth of her body brushing his front, and she was all he saw. She had a few freckles scattered across her nose, and Dwalin desperately wanted to run his tongue over the beauty mark on the base of her throat. Sigrid’s expression had changed. She no longer looked grim and serious as she had when she had spoken of the Master and the harsh political climate of the town. Her expressive eyes darted across his face, taking in his oft broken nose, grey streaked beard and tattooed skull as if she tried to read him, to figure out what he would do next. He saw her throat bob as she swallowed and her plump lips parted as her breathing hitched.

Her face dipped closer as she leaned further towards him, and he slowly reached out for her hand as he felt her warm breath wash across his face. Her hand felt small in his and the skin was cracked and dry against his fingers, but for all that it looked fragile it was deceptively strong. Her hands were just like her, and Dwalin muzzily thought he liked them best of any hands he had ever held before. Then her pink tongue darted out to lick her lips and she crossed the distance and kissed him. He immediately responded and felt her relieved exhale against his skin. They kissed frantically as all the pent up attraction between them was unleashed. Dwalin parted his lips and Sigrid took immediate advantage, her tongue brushing up against his as she pressed her body firmly against him and wound her free hand into his beard. Her taste filled his mouth, and he groaned as she pulled back and bit his bottom lip. He wrapped his arm around her waist and the warmth of her body scorched his skin through the threadbare fabric. They were panting into each other’s mouths as they drew in breath between kisses, and Sigrid’s low moans of pleasure reached his ears even over the constant deep rumbling in his chest. They pressed against each other as if trying to fuse into one entity, their free hands roaming over ears and hips and shoulders even as their other hand remained clasped. Dwalin’s cock was hard and straining and he was embarrassingly close to finishing already.

The sounds of footsteps coming closer to the kitchen and his brother’s exaggerated coughing from the other side of the wall cut through the haze of lust that had blanketed the pair, and Dwalin reluctantly drew away from Sigrid. He nearly dove right back in when he caught sight of her flushed face and heaving bosom. Her lips were red from his kisses and her chin was slightly reddened where his beard had rubbed against it. It took all of his willpower to whisper to her that someone was coming and step away. Sigrid nodded and turned back to the dish water, and his chest ached when she unwound their tangled fingers and released his hand. Just as she did the boy came through the doorway with the last batch of dishes, and Dwalin nodded as he excused himself and left the kitchen.

 

Dwalin headed toward the small wash room with the jeers of the members of the Company that was still awake ringing in his ears.  
“Where are you going in such a hurry, did ya fall in?”  
“Didn’t get enough of water on the way here?”  
“Nah, not even a river is enough to wash that one clean!”  
He was going to murder them all in their sleep! But first…  
The door had barely closed behind him before he wrenched his trousers down past his knees. He knelt on the floor, back to the door, and gripped his hard cock tightly in a tattooed fist. The purple head was already peeking out from the foreskin, slick with precum.

He closed his eyes and started moving his hand up and down at a brisk pace. He could still taste her on his tongue. Dwalin pictured Sigrid coming to him, smiling wickedly as he lay down on his back on a soft rug. She would stand over him, one foot on either side of his head and push her ragged skirt up around her waist. She would have left off undergarments. He would look straight up at her pussy as she slowly knelt over him, curls already gleaming with damp. Soft, round thighs would push up against his ears until all sound was muffled. She would be dripping in her excitement, dripping all over his beard until the beads of moisture glittered like a string of diamonds in the firelight.

Dwalin bit his lip to contain his moan at the thought and couldn’t help but increase his speed a little.

He would open his mouth and stick his tongue out as she lowered herself to his face. She’d moan just as she had in the kitchen when he licked her, scalding his tongue on her hot pussy. She would grasp his head and ride his tongue as he pushed it into her, juices gushing faster than he could swallow, soaking his face and his beard until it was dripping too. Maybe she would have a little gold ring through the hood over her clit like many dwarves did. A hard counterpoint to her softness. He would flick it with his tongue, catch it in his teeth and carefully pull on it he listened to her muffled moans.

He reached down to cup his balls in his other hand. His breath stuttered out of him as the fantasy flashed across his inner sight. The images of Sigrid fucking herself on his face fanned the flames of his lust.

Maybe she would turn around and he would be able to hear again even as her ass came down on his eyes and blotted out his sight. She would lean forward and brace her hands on his stomach. He would hear her, smell her, taste her as she completely surrounded him. Sigrid would look down at his aching cock straining the front of his trousers, almost bursting through the fabric and do nothing about it. She would just take her own pleasure from him while staring at his cock, pussy gushing and moaning as she moved her hips back and forth, drenching him and he would press the flat of his tongue all along the length of her and –  
Dwalin clapped a hand over his mouth as he leaned forward and came harder than he had in a very long while. Seed streaked across the warped floorboards in front of him in thick ropes as he breathed harshly though his nose. The orgasm seemed to go on forever and it almost hurt in its intensity, but eventually he came back to himself to find he was kneeling in a drafty room with his limp cock in his hand. He cleaned himself and the floor as best he could and tucked himself back into his trousers with trembling hands.

Just before he opened the door to go back outside again, before he put his outside-world-face back on, he thought that he would find a way to get Sigrid alone or die trying.

 

* * *

 

Sigrid stood amongst the rubble strewn across a cobbled street watching the flaming sun set over Dale. She reflected that she had thought that nothing could ever be more frightening than the roar of the dragon and the flames devouring Laketown around her. Even the orcs that had invaded their home after most of the dwarves had embarked on the last leg of the journey to the mountain hadn’t been as frightening as the force of nature that was Smaug. During the long walk to the ruins of Dale together with their friends and neighbors the day after the lake burned, Sigrid had reflected that surely after surviving such events the worst was behind them. The future would be filled with hard work to make Dale a livable, prosperous city once more, but the future could only get brighter.

Then there was the battle. It had felt like the clang of weapons, the roar of orcs and the deafening crashes of shattering masonry vibrated through her bones and fear had made her clench her jaws together so tightly that her teeth ached. As the orcs swarmed into the broken city like locusts around the legs of the gigantic trolls she had known that survival would come down to chance. Bain had managed to scrounge up a rusty sword and she herself carried a small knife on her belt, but they would not be able to fend off any enemies that found them. The sheer overwhelming number of orcs and trolls assaulting the armies and civilians on the plain outside Erebor had scared her out of her mind and made her feel powerless in a way she had never felt before. When they had fled Laketown in their small rowing boat she had been able to trust in Tauriel’s keen eyes, Bofur’s almost preternatural ability to calm Bain and Tilda, and the brave and kind hearts of Fili and Kili, who would defend them all with everything they had.

She took a deep breath and wiped away the tears welling in her eyes, blurring her sight. It had been three days since the battle, and word had spread quickly through the encampments of all three races that Thorin and his two heirs had all perished in the fighting. The thought that she would never see Kili’s warm eyes or Fili’s dimpled smile ever again hurt. In the short time they had spent in her home she had grown fond of them.

When Sigrid had moved around their ruined camp in the aftermath, trying to organize help for her people, she had kept her ears open for any gossip pertaining to the rest of the Company. But most of her people kept away from the dwarven encampment, and she didn’t want to ask her da when he came back from his meetings with the other rulers. She knew he would wonder at her curiosity about the fate of the dwarves, and she didn’t want to admit to him that there was one in particular she wondered about. Sigrid was surprised at herself, surprised at how acutely she felt the need to know if Dwalin had survived the battle. 

While Sigrid knew that she should ideally have stayed a virgin until marriage, there was very little to do in a place like Laketown for those that wished to forget their circumstances for a while. And she had figured that not being precisely chaste would be alright as long as she was discreet, and she had been very discreetly smuggled into Dwalin’s room in the house the Master had provided the dwarves with back in Laketown. The encounter had been like nothing she had experienced before, not only because his body was so very different from the males of her own race, but because of the sheer passion of it. Dwalin had shown her his desire in every touch and every kiss and she had never been more aroused or satisfied. Still, she wasn’t naïve enough to think that promises and endearments whispered in the dark during the height of passion were in any way honestly and bindingly meant. A one night stand, no matter how good, didn’t really entitle her to ask about him, and it certainly wouldn’t have been discreet to do so. And yet, she kept wondering if he was hale and whole and not one of the many lying still and cold in the frozen mud.

Sigrid’s breath misted before her in a white cloud as she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders in the freezing air. She heard murmurs of conversation and the wail of an infant coming from the dilapidated building behind her where her people were camped. She should go back in and try to get as much rest as possible, but sleep was difficult to come by these days. The hall was cold despite all the bodies crammed into it, and when she finally fell asleep her dreams were filled with the red of blood and fire. Perhaps a walk before bed then, she thought to herself and started down the frost-speckled street. It was getting darker, so she walked slowly to avoid tripping.

Lost in thought, she let her feet carry her where they would and almost ended up colliding with a party of dwarves emerging from around the corner of a building near the gate.  
They must have been meeting with da, she thought as she scanned the group for any familiar faces. The dwarf that led the party looked jovial and cheerfully winked at her as he passed her by. A few dour dwarves came behind him, and then she spotted the dwarf with the axe in his head. She almost acted on the impulse to stop him and ask for news of the Company, but she seemed to recall some difficulties with communication and she wasn’t sure he even remembered her. She stepped back to let them pass unimpeded as three more very important-looking dwarves filed past, and then the last of the party emerged around the corner. His tattooed pate had a long, angry scratch across it, and his beard was slightly uneven as if it had been hacked by a knife or a sword on one side. Sigrid could see two handles sticking up behind his head and the hilt of a sword peeking out through the folds of his green cloak. 

She must have made some noise she couldn’t hear over the pounding of her heart, or perhaps the ever vigilant Dwalin had looked her way. All she knew was that his blue eyes were suddenly fixed on her, and she thought she saw a hint of relief in them before he looked away and barked something in his language at the other dwarves. The one with the axe (Bifur or Bombur, but which?) looked back briefly and spotted her. He waved a hand sign at Dwalin and then turned around and kept going as the merry one laughed and yelled something back even as he led the procession through the ruined gate.

And then Dwalin was standing in front of her. He had a serious expression on his face, but from what she knew of him he always did. The key to reading him was through his eyes, but his emotions flitted across them too rapidly for her to make anything out with certainty. He apparently found what he was looking for in hers, for he took her hand and gently pulled her away along a street into the darkness.  
It should feel ridiculous to walk hand in hand, she thought, as he had to angle his arm upward like a half grown child, but it didn’t. His hand was warm and calloused in hers and it felt peaceful to walk together. These past few weeks had been full of turmoil, but as they walked through the hushed city the stress finally bled away as another kind of tension grew in her chest. 

They came upon a building with three standing walls and part of the roof intact and Dwalin pulled her along with him through the doorway and into a shadowed corner. He turned so that his back was against the stone and she stopped close enough to him that she could almost feel his warm breath fanning across her throat where the threadbare shawl gapped.  
“You’re alright?” he asked, breaking the silence that had surrounded them. Sigrid nodded.  
“And your family? The little ones?”  
She had to clear her throat to reply, as a lump seemed to have taken up residence in her throat.  
“Yes, everyone is alive and well… We heard about the king and princes. I’m so sorry.”  
His face crumpled at her words and he reached his arms out to wrap around her waist and gather her close. Her arms came up around his shoulders and held him close. A sob tore through his throat and he buried his face in her chest as he cried.

It might have seemed strange that he would cry on her shoulder when they didn’t know each other very well, but Sigrid understood. She had met them, and he had told her amusing tales of his and Thorin’s misadventures in Gondor as they had laid curled up on his bed in the afterglow during their night together in Laketown. She knew they had rarely been apart, so she could understand some of his grief. A grief the others in the Company shared, but sometimes it was difficult to burden someone else with your suffering when they suffered too. When her ma had died she had cried a few times in her da’s arms, but she had seen how it made his own burden that much heavier to bear. She hadn’t understood then, but now she thought that it reminded him in an inescapable way that he had not only lost his partner in life, but also that his children had lost their mother, and he was all alone in trying to help them through it while crippled himself by the loss.  
She had ended up seeking comfort from her friends instead, who had an easier time focusing on helping her without also dealing with their own emotions. Dwalin may not have lost a lover, but he had lost a life partner just the same.

She held him as he cried, rubbing the back of his neck and pressing soft kisses to the top of his head. She didn’t know how long she stood there in the darkness, holding the burning ember that was Dwalin in her arms, but at length he drew away slightly and cold air rushed into the space between them and chilled her front.

He wiped his eyes with his fingertips, careful not to jab his own knuckledusters into his face. She timidly raised her hand to his cheek and brushed away some stray droplets. He smiled, a quick upturn of the corners of his mouth under her thumb. She traced his bottom lip with that same thumb and shivered as his hot breath puffed against it.  
“Feeling better?” she whispered. She could barely make him out in the darkness, but she heard his grunt of assent clearly as it rumbled through his chest. She suddenly became aware that she was leaning down toward him, and couldn’t resist the urge to lean the rest of the way and kiss him.

The kiss was gentle, at first she merely pressed her lips softly to his. One kiss, two kisses, three, and then the air ignited between them. Dwalin pulled at her skirt and she let go of him to scrabble frantically at the buckles and laces around his waist as her tongue slid into his mouth.  
“Help me,” she commanded between kisses, and Dwalin tore himself away from her with a groan. He tore his cloak off and rather gallantly swept it around Sigrid’s shoulders. The knuckledusters and his sword belt followed and the sword clattered to the ground as he wrenched his armor out of the way and his trousers down to his knees. He knelt on the hard ground before her as she jerked her pantaloons off and picked up her skirts high enough to straddle him. His arms immediately came around her again, gripping her bum in his large hands under the cloak that she swept around them both. Sigrid braced herself on his broad shoulders as he tipped his head up for a kiss. She moaned into his mouth and ground down against his cock. She wished they could undress fully so they would be even closer. She wanted to feel her nipples rubbing against the thick and soft mat of hair on his chest. She wanted to run her hands along his spine and feel his firmly muscled backside flexing as he drove into her. She wanted to see his cock parting her lips and sink into her body. Her pussy throbbed in time with her rapid heartbeat and suddenly she couldn’t wait any longer. She broke the kiss and reached down to line him up. Dwalin panted against her neck as she sank down on his cock. When she bottomed out she closed her eyes and concentrated on the feeling of him inside her, hot steel filling up an empty space inside that she hadn’t even known was there. She leaned her forehead against his, and felt something shifting inside, as if the surface tension of a vessel that had steadily filled up since she had met him had broken, flooding over the rim. She realized that this was where she wanted to be. She was falling for him and she hadn’t even known it until this moment.

“Please, amrâlimê, move,” he whispered into the silent night, calling her back to herself again. She rode him until her thighs burned as Dwalin bit at her nipples through her dress, kissed her neck and caressed every part of her that he could reach. Their combined body heat was trapped by the cloak, and she could feel beads of sweat trailing down between her breasts. She was so close but the exertion kept her from reaching across the distance to completion.  
“Dwalin!” she cried, and suddenly she found herself toppled on her back and Dwalin’s face above her. She braced her feet against the stone floor under her and spread her knees so she could meet his thrusts half way. She felt the thick drag of his cock inside as he thumbed her clit and that was all it took for the orgasm to lance through her.

Their panting breaths sounded loud to her ears in the aftermath. Dwalin lay slumped over her chest, a burning brand against her heart, but the stone under her chilled her back through the cloak and the frigid air cooled her uncovered limbs. Dwalin must have felt it too, since after only a moment more he sat up and pulled out. Once he had pulled his trousers back up he sat back against the wall again and gathered her up in his lap. The cloak was once again swept around them both, creating a warm space around the two of them. This close, she could just make out his face in the moonlight.

At length, Dwalin spoke.  
“The kings have decided to leave the rebuilding of Dale until the spring. The Men will live in the mountain with us until then.” She hadn’t known, but perhaps it had been decided in the meeting he had just come from. “I will have a house by the time you move in.”  
Sigrid frowned as she tried to follow his line of thought.  
“I… That’s nice, I suppose,” she said slowly. “And we’ll have a whole, empty mountain to sneak away in together, too,” she grinned in a way she hoped was charming.  
Apparently it was not, as Dwalin’s response was lowered brows and a downturned mouth rather than the enthusiastic agreement she had been hoping for.  
“What do you mean? You will be living with me, won’t you?” he asked. Wait, what?  
“What? No, that wouldn’t be proper. Da definitely wouldn’t like it.”  
The frown shifted to a scowl.  
“Because I’m a dwarf? Or because I’m the second son of a Lord and you are a princess now?”  
He looked ferocious but Sigrid could see the hurt lurking in his eyes. She rushed to reassure him.  
“No, it’s just that the race of Men marry first. We are supposed to be chaste until then.”  
Now it was Dwalin’s turn to look confused.  
“But you accepted my proposal. I had hoped we could be married within the month,” he said slowly, and Sigrid’s heart stuttered in her chest at the words. He had…  
“When did you… I mean…” she stuttered ineloquently. He hadn’t made her any promises. Only he had, she remembered now, he had kissed his way along her body and promised to weave amethysts in her hair, make her ruby necklaces and beryl bracelets. Sigrid frowned. And then she suddenly remembered. Once they had slaked the immediate need they had cuddled together on the bed, speaking intimately in hushed voices. The second time she had been stretched out on the floor by the fire while Dwalin employed his tongue between her legs. She had been nearing orgasm when he started speaking, telling her between licks how he wanted to keep her and how he wanted do this to wake her up in the morning and soothe her to sleep at night for the rest of his life if she let him. The very idea had sent her over the edge, groaning out a strangled ‘yes’, but once she came down then she had assumed he hadn’t been serious.

“But, but we were… I mean, you were… it was just bed talk.” Oh look, the scowl was back, and it darkened as she continued, “people don’t really mean what they say when they are… you know.”  
“I see.”  
Dwalin sat perfectly still for a moment. He was so still she irrationally thought that it was as though he had suddenly turned into stone. His gaze was turned inwards, as if he was listening to something deep inside that she could never hear. Sigrid shifted awkwardly where she still sat on his lap and the motion seemed to bring him back to himself. His gaze sharpened on her again, and he lifted her off his lap and stood up. In the low light she could barely make out his form pacing back and forth. The moonlight had been sufficient when they were nose to nose, but now he appeared as a darker smudge in the darkness. Freezing air rushed in to fill the space at her front where he had been and Sigrid pulled the cloak closer around her shoulders in response. She wasn’t entirely sure she was shivering merely because of the cold, though. This had become a very confusing encounter and she was struggling to shift her perspective, to take in what he was saying and make something coherent out of the oddly shaped puzzle pieces he had given her.

Pacing seemed to have calmed him down, and at length she heard him sigh.  
“Balin told me I was a fool. ‘She is too young,’ he said, ‘and a daughter of Men’. But I think that perhaps there is some misunderstanding at work, here. I would not have us speaking at cross purposes.”  
Sigrid gulped and told him she agreed. They needed to sort this out. She stood up and took a few cautious steps toward him. She needed to see his face during their talk. There was an uncomfortable feeling skittering down her spine, almost like a premonition, that this conversation could change her entire future. He stopped pacing but didn’t move toward her.  
“Sigrid,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and tightly gripping the fabric over his elbows. “Do not think us very short Men. I would not have said the things I did if I did not mean them. It is my honor at stake.”  
“Some dwarvish concept of honor compels you to tell the truth in bed?” Well, that sounded ridiculous.  
“It forbids me from making promises I have no intention to fulfill,” he rumbled. “Apparently this is not the case with your kind. I… I will not hold you to your agreement.”  
And truly, she didn’t know how she felt about that. She had just realized that she was on her way to falling in love with him, while he was already planning their marriage. It was much too fast. She wanted the chance to see where this could go. But she knew that if this misunderstanding pushed him away she would be sad for a time about the lost opportunity (and the end of the sex) but ultimately she wouldn’t mourn forever. She felt irrationally guilty at the knowledge that he was in a lot deeper than she was.

“There is something else you need to know,” he rumbled, and she thought his voice sounded thick and close to cracking in the darkness. “I am with child.”  
At first she couldn’t understand what he was saying. Surely she had misunderstood? But as she stood there, doing her best impression of a fish out of water, she saw that he was absolutely serious. Her hands and feet went numb and spots danced before her eyes as he continued speaking.  
“Given the misunderstanding between us I would understand if you– Sigrid!”

Sigrid came back to consciousness slowly. She felt muzzy and for a moment she couldn’t quite remember what had happened. Why was she leaning against Dwalin’s shoulder in the freezing cold? Then it all came flooding back and she had really rather it hadn’t.  
“How are you now?” Dwalin asked.  
“Oh, just, just lovely,” she replied. “And you? And the… How? How did this happen?”  
“Perhaps we can postpone the anatomy lesson for another time? You’ve had a chock. Come, I’ll walk you home.”  
Dwalin carefully helped her back on her feet, but once he was sure she had got her footing he shifted to put some space between them. There was no handholding on the walk back toward camp. Sigrid’s thought were all a jumble. There was going to be a baby. She was going to be a mother. Dwalin was having her baby! It was certainly not a situation she had ever expected to find herself in, and she would need time to adjust to the idea, but… But. A baby.

When the building came into view and they stepped closer toward the candlelight spilling out through the cracks in the masonry Sigrid slowly reached out and tentatively grasped Dwalin’s hand in hers. In response to the unsure look on his face she said “You will have to speak to da, and ask his permission to marry me.”  
A slow smile spread in time with the relief on Dwalin’s face.  
“Aye, I will tell him we are to marry, if you wish it.”  
“Ask! I said ask.”  
His grin was positively mischievous. “Keep the cloak, lass. I will be by tomorrow to inform Bard of everything.”  
She huffed a laugh and with a parting kiss turned and went inside. She was still wearing the cloak as she lay down in her usual spot. There was still many things to consider, and to sort through and to decide, and they would get started on it tomorrow. For now she was tired, and her last thought before she fell into a deep sleep surrounded by Dwalin’s scent was that she was finally warm.


End file.
